Morning in Konoha was always deceptively peaceful.
Birdsong filled the air, children ran through narrow alleys with wooden shuriken strapped to their backs, and merchants opened stalls to sell miso, rice balls, and chakra-dried fruits. The village lived on like war wasn't sitting just beyond its walls.
Arashi Hatake sat on a bench overlooking the Third Training Ground, watching Kakashi fumble with a practice scroll under a jonin's supervision. He was still a toddler in shinobi terms—barely strong enough to maintain chakra flow—but the signs were already there. Sharp hands. Quiet feet. Eyes that saw more than they let on.
"He doesn't smile much," Arashi muttered.
Sakumo stood beside him. "Neither did you."
"I had reason."
"He doesn't?"
Arashi didn't answer.
The truth was heavier than silence.
Kakashi had never known his mother. And the way things were moving, he might not get to keep his father either. If Root's quiet campaign against Sakumo succeeded, Kakashi's future could spiral into the same cold, hollow ambition Arashi remembered from his past life.
Sakumo crossed his arms. "You're watching the boy like he's already lost."
"I'm making sure he isn't."
Sakumo exhaled and looked away.
"I got pulled off active missions," he said after a long moment. "No reason given."
Arashi's grip tightened on the edge of the bench. "They're laying the foundation. Questioning your loyalty. Isolating your authority."
"They think I've grown soft."
"They think you're dangerous."
Sakumo nodded. "I saved enemy lives once. And I'll do it again. But they don't want a man who chooses mercy over orders."
"They want a tool."
They sat in silence as Kakashi finished his drills and walked across the field to his instructor.
"Don't let them turn you bitter," Sakumo said quietly.
Arashi didn't reply.
Because bitterness had already rooted itself in his heart.
That night, Arashi didn't go home.
He wandered the rooftops instead, following the same back-alley paths he'd mapped in his childhood. The village looked different from above—small, fragile, flickering with torchlight. Each rooftop he crossed, each alley he dropped into, reminded him of how delicate it all was.
He didn't stop until he reached the Hokage Monument.
He sat atop his father's carved stone face and looked out across Konoha.
The scrolls the Root agent had given him sat in a case strapped to his back. He hadn't opened them yet. Every part of him knew they were poisoned. Not physically—informationally. Whatever was inside, once known, couldn't be unlearned.
And yet...
He opened the first.
Uchiha Movement Logs – Compiled Year 48-50
He scanned quickly. Chakra usage reports. Patrol rotations. Two quiet reports of withheld mission intel. No direct proof. But enough to stir doubt.
The second scroll detailed experiments involving sensory chakra displacement. The sigil on it was unmistakably from the Hidden Rain. Notes suggested early field trials involving Konoha-based shinobi. Root fingerprints all over it.
The third... was different.
It was a list.
Names. Dozens of them.
KIA. Suicide. Deserted.
Except these names weren't on the village's public memorial stone.
All tied to one man: Sakumo Hatake.
Arashi's eyes scanned down the names.
A pattern emerged.
Every death tied to a mission Sakumo had led, rejected, or questioned. Some had occurred after the missions ended. Clean. Silent.
Root cleaning up "uncontrolled elements"?
Arashi felt bile rise in his throat.
They weren't just trying to ruin his father.
They were erasing him—piece by piece.
He sat motionless until dawn.
Two days later, the fire came.
Not literal—but loud enough to shake the village's morning calm.
A mission had failed.
A high-priority Leaf diplomat escort team had been ambushed by Cloud-nin.
The official report: misinformation caused a route failure.
The whispered report: the lead escort had chosen to retreat without orders.
The name of the lead escort?
Sakumo Hatake.
Arashi stood outside the Hokage Tower with clenched fists. He could hear the voices echoing from inside the council chamber. His father's name spoken like it was already being carved into a warning stone.
He wasn't invited in.
Not yet.
But he knew what was happening.
The Elders were circling. Homura. Koharu. Even Danzo—his shadow loomed over this more than anyone else's. Whispers of dishonor, disobedience, recklessness.
The diplomat had survived.
But the other escort shinobi had not.
And just like that, the White Fang had become the village's scapegoat.
Again.
Arashi sat beside his father that evening.
Sakumo didn't speak. His bandaged hands rested in his lap, and his eyes were distant. Not vacant. Just far away—like he was already seeing the future they were trying to force on him.
"They don't see what you gave them," Arashi said quietly.
"They're afraid of what I represent."
"Humanity."
Sakumo gave a sad smile.
"They think mercy is a weakness."
"It is," Sakumo said. "Until it's not."
Arashi looked down. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing."
"Don't say that."
"There's nothing I can do. The village needs a symbol. I'm convenient."
Arashi stood.
"I won't let them bury you."
"I'm not afraid of being buried," Sakumo said. "I'm afraid of what you'll become to stop them."
That silenced him.
Because that was the one thing Arashi hadn't prepared for.
Becoming what he hated… just to protect the ones he loved.
Later that night, he entered his mental realm.
No more sparring.
No simulations.
He stood in silence beneath a broken sky and screamed until his voice cracked.
Then he created a new opponent.
Not Zoro.
Not Jiraiya.
Not even his father.
But himself.
Two versions.
The man he was now.
And the man he feared becoming.
No morals. No hesitation. No limits.
They fought.
And he lost.
The next day, he walked into the Hokage Tower unannounced.
A chunin tried to stop him. He didn't let them.
He barged into Sarutobi's chamber while the Elders were mid-meeting.
Danzo's eyes flicked toward him. Homura frowned. Koharu narrowed her gaze.
Only Sarutobi looked unsurprised.
"Arashi Hatake," the Hokage said. "You're not invited."
"I'm not here for tea."
Danzo folded his hands. "The boy is disruptive. Remove him."
"No," Sarutobi said quietly. "Let him speak."
Arashi looked each of them in the eye.
"You want a weapon. You want a reason to push my father out. You think his humanity is weakness. You think I'll stand by and let you write the story."
Silence.
"I'm telling you now: if you break him, I will never stop coming for you. Not through politics. Not through whispers. Through blood."
Danzo's expression didn't change.
But his eyes gleamed.
Sarutobi sighed.
"You're your father's son."
"No," Arashi said. "I'm not. He still believes in this village."
He turned to Danzo.
"I already know your agents have eyes on Kakashi. Keep them off him."
Danzo's smile was thin. "Or what?"
"I'll burn every Root facility you've ever hidden."
"Empty threats."
"Try me."
Sarutobi stood. "Enough."
Arashi turned and walked out.
And behind him, the future shifted.
Because Konoha had just learned the Silent Fang was no longer just watching.
He was warning.
To be continued.